


The Souvenir

by mangacrack



Series: Season of Kink (2017) [3]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: AKA, M/M, Masturbation, Non Body Fetish, Past Relationship(s), let's blame the Silmaril
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-03
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-12-23 08:52:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11986416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangacrack/pseuds/mangacrack
Summary: Thingol fondles the Silmaril and yes, it's as dirty as it sounds.





	The Souvenir

**Author's Note:**

> Season of Kink: Non-Body Fetish

 

"I do not wish to be disturbed in the next hour," Thingol said to his guards and vanished into his rooms, desperately needing some time for himself.  

After the recent events the number of audiences had increased considerably. Before the foul beast had invaded his woods, there had been little reason to seek him out. His people took care of themselves and Thingol felt more like friend walking among them and offering advice. Yet after the attack, after the mortal's death and Luthien's sacrifice, the Sindar wished to see him in control. Capable of protecting them. Hence why he rarely got time to breath these days. Concerned mothers wished to have their children trained in the arts of combat, his warriors felt offended by the suggestion of not doing their duty properly. His craftsmen send a missive that they do needed more metal, since their reserves were swindling rapidly. 

Especially the last point weighted on his mind. His wife did a better job then him in calming the Sindar. She took her time in walking down the streets, greeting every with a friendly smile and assured that the girdle was strong as ever. Thingol often left such matters of diplomacy to his wife, a habit born out of need as they returned from their time together so many years ago. It left Thingol contemplating about how he was supposed to solve the issue of arming their people. The thought didn't sit well with him, bow and arrow sufficed in the past, yet the werewolf had barely felt those. 

A solution had to be found, since asking the Noldor wasn't an option. Until now Doriath frequently traded with Nargothrond, but with Finrod's death Thingol doubted that they would look kindly on him. It wouldn't matter to the Goloth that Thingol had nothing to do with their King, they held him responsible regardless. 

A little voice in the back of his head told him that they weren't wrong exactly. The guilt plaguing his dreams was undeniable. 

While he got rid of his cape and other ornaments, Thingol's gaze fell onto the box that stood next to his bed. Almost against his will, he reached for it and opened the lid. Inside laid the most beautiful object he had ever seen. Peace settled in his soul as his eyes beheld the Silmaril and when his fingers wrapped around the object, warmth flows through his heart. The King of the Sindar smiled as he took the jewel in both hands, pressing it against his chest. 

It felt like an anchor. A source of joy and hope. Thingol couldn't understand why neither his wife nor his daughter avoided the fine piece of craftsmanship. 

There's little what he liked about the Noldor, but _this jewel_ might make their coming to Beleriand even worthwhile. 

Thingol climbed on his bed and put the Silmaril into his lap, running his thumb over it. He hadn't bothered to lit the room any further with candles, though the canopy of the trees rarely allowed the stars or the moon to shine through. Perhaps, because he had known what light he truly craved. Thingol hummed and get a little more comfortable, still cradling the Silmaril in his fingers. The jewel reminded him of other, simpler times. Years on the great journey, where he had been just an advisor and Finwë was still at his side.

The memory made him sigh. It was a long time ago, where he and Finwë were close. Shared everything. The arrival of his children and his grandchildren only reminded Thingol of what he had lost. That he'd never hold him in his arms again. They destroyed any hope of the reunion he had longed for. A mix of grief and arousal washed over him. Perhaps it was inappropriate, but Thingol tried not to let the Kinslayers outside of his borders stain his memory of his lost lover. Not, when the light of the jewel was so warm and reminded him of Finwë. It's surprisingly smooth texture was a bit like Finwë's hands.

Wondering what the jewel would feel like pressed against his skin, Thingol opens his tunic and undressed until he's half naked, his pants dangling at his knees. Perhaps it's wrong, but the thought of how the Fëanorian's would react to this sight, spurred Thingol on. One hand wrapped around his hardening shaft, he used the other to rub the jewel against it. 

"Oh," Thingol sighed, surprised how warm the jewel is. He keeps going, careful and enjoying the friction while the sight brings back memories. There used to be a time, when he played such games with Finwë. Before his friend fell in love with Míriel. Before they left him behind on these shores. He moaned as the pleasure increases. "Yes, please. Finwë." 

It almost felt like as if hands are touching him. Thingol closed his eyes and moved the Silmaril over his body, imagining Finwë's hands. 

In the end it didn't take him long to find his release, crying out his lost lover's name while clutching the sacred jewel. 

Thingol fell asleep soon after, sullied and content. The Silmaril still glowed in his hand, whispering in Finwë's voice and sending Thingol dreams of the past.

It almost felt real. In a way sex with Melian never had.  

**Author's Note:**

> Shame on me! I feel this is worse than all the incest I've written but the prompt left me grasping what to write. And with everyone lusting after the Jewels, I thought ... Why not?! And yes, I briefly considered giving the Silmaril a more phallic form, but ... I kind of _couldn't_ go there? I mean, Fëanor would kill me, so nope.


End file.
